Those who question why Dr. Hastings' interest in Moore's poem did not cause him to make a tune for it, must conclude that it came to him with its permanent melody ready made, and that the tune satisfied him. The "German Air" to which Moore tells us he wrote the words, probably took his fancy, if it did not induce his mood. Whether Samuel Webbe's tune now wedded to the hymn is an arrangement of the old air or wholly his own is immaterial. One can scarcely conceive a happier yoking of counterparts. Try singing "Come ye Disconsolate" to "Rescue the Perishing," for example, and we shall feel the impertinence of divorcing a hymn that has found its musical affinity. "JESUS, I MY CROSS HAVE TAKEN." This is another well-known and characteristic hymn of Henry Francis Lyte--originally six stanzas. We have been told that, besides his bodily affliction, the grief of an unhappy division or difference in his church weighed upon his spirit, and that it is alluded to in these lines-- Man may trouble and distress me, 'Twill but drive me to Thy breast, Life with trials hard may press me, Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. O, 'tis not in grief to harm me While Thy love is left to me, O, 'tis not in joy to charm me Were that joy unmixed with Thee. Tunes, "Autumn," by F.H. Barthelemon, or "Ellesdie," (formerly called "Disciple") from Mozart--familiar in either. "FROM EVERY STORMY WIND THAT BLOWS." This is the much-sung and deeply-cherished hymn of Christian peace that a pious Manxman, Hugh Stowell, was inspired to write nearly a hundred years ago. Ever since it has carried consolation to souls in both ordinary and extraordinary trials. It was sung by the eight American martyrs, Revs. Albert Johnson, John E. Freeman, David E. Campbell and their wives, and Mr. and Mrs. McMullen, when by order of the bloody Nana Sahib the captive missionaries were taken prisoners and put to death at Cawnpore in 1857. Two little children, Fannie and Willie Campbell, suffered with their parents. From every stormy wind that blows, From every swelling tide of woes There is a calm, a sure retreat; 'Tis found beneath the Mercy Seat. Ah, whither could we flee for aid When tempted, desolate, dismayed, Or how the hosts of hell defeat Had suffering saints no Mercy Seat? There, there on eagle wings we soar, And sin and sense molest no more, And heaven comes down our souls to greet While glory crowns the Mercy Seat. [Illustration: John B. Dykes] Rev. Hugh Stowell was born at Douglas on the Isle of Man, Dec. 3, 1799. He was educated at Oxford and ordained to the ministry 1823, receiving twelve years later the appointment of Canon to Chester Cathedral. He was a popular and effective preacher and a graceful writer. Forty-seven hymns are credited to him, the above being the best known. To presume it is "his best," leaves a good margin of merit for the remainder.